Wretched
by CatS81
Summary: When psychological profiler Grace Foley is called in to consult on a difficult case for UCOS, the two teams uncover the very darkest that human nature has to offer...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I own neither 'New Tricks' nor 'Waking the Dead'; the BBC has that honour. I'm just taking the characters out for a little spin around the block ;)

**Pairings**: Sandra/Gerry, Boyd/Grace (established)

**Content**: Crossover, Drama, Romance

**Rating**: T/M for language, adult themes

**Spoilers**: Nothing specific. I imagine this is probably set around S8 for WTD and anywhere up to S9 for NT.

**A/N**: So this is my first foray back into fanfic since the birth of my daughter 6 months ago – and my first ever attempt at writing in the 'New Tricks' fandom! I thought I'd combine it with my other great TV love, 'Waking the Dead', and see where it takes me. Please let me know what you think – I'm kinda outside of my comfort zone so not quite sure how successful it'll be but hey, ho!

For those unfamiliar with WtD, the premise is a Cold Case Unit (CCU), similar to UCOS, which is comprised of three serving police officers, a forensic pathologist and a psychological profiler - the main characters are as follows: Peter Boyd (Detective Superintendent), Dr Grace Foley (profiler), Spencer Jordan (DI), Katrina Howard (DC) and Dr Eve Lockhart (pathologist).

For those unfamiliar with NT, the premise is a cold case unit, similar to the CCU, termed the Unsolved Crime and Open case Squad (UCOS) which is comprised of one serving and three retired police officers - the main four characters are as follows: Sandra Pullman (Detective Superintendent), Gerry Standing (ex-DS), Brian Lane (ex-DI) and Jack Halford (ex-Det. Chief Supt.).

Hope you enjoy! I can't promise how quick my updates will be (with a 3.5 year old and a 6 month old, I get very little time for writing!) but I'll do my best - thanks for reading :)

* * *

Grace Foley replaced the telephone handset gently into its cradle and sank slowly back in her chair, her eyebrows knitting together in a bemused frown as she collected her thoughts. The call had been completely unexpected, seemingly apropos of nothing, the caller himself explaining in clipped tones his proposition before ringing off to give her due time for consideration. Grace drew a breath deep into her lungs before releasing it, her mind tumbling backwards over their conversation as she tried to assess the potential logistics of such a premise whilst simultaneously trying to quell a surge of curiosity as it flickered in her gut. Momentarily she pushed herself to standing, wincing in irritation at the twinge in her spine and silently bemoaning the ravages of her advancing years before walking towards the glass door of the opposite office and leaning against the jamb.

"Got a minute?" she asked the office's sole occupant, her lips quirking into a smile as he grunted his assent without glancing up from the scattered papers on his desk.

"Just about a minute." Peter Boyd's baritone was characteristically gruff as he sat back in his chair and folded his arms, regarding her across the top of his reading glasses. "That arsehole barrister wants me in court in an hour."

Grace raised her wrist to glance at her watch. "You're pushing it, then."

His smile was wolfish, dark eyes glinting in the glare of his desk lamp. "What d'you want?"

She stepped swiftly across the threshold and took a seat on the couch, crossing one slim leg across the other and settling her hands into her lap. "I've just come off the phone with Rob Strickland…."

Boyd gave a loud snort of derision. "Talking of arseholes…."

"…and he's proposed something…interesting."

He grinned slowly, suggestively. "Has he indeed?"

Grace's sapphire eyes were shining as she held his gaze. "Something he wants me to consider."

"Fifty-five minutes, Grace, and I'm centre stage at the Old Bailey; could you please just for once get to the point?"

"Alright." The psychologist gave a serene smile, completely unfazed by his characteristically gruff impatience. "He wants me to consult on a case for his unit."

"Over the phone?"

She looked at him scathingly, ignoring the irritation in his tone. "He can't officially second me, Boyd…."

"Over the phone it is, then."

"…but he made it quite clear that he'd like me there full-time; or as near as can be, depending on our current case-load."

Boyd gestured dismissively. "Not going to happen."

"Are you going to tell him, then?" Grace was clearly amused. "We _are_ talking about the DAC, Boyd…."

"Yeah, well, he can piss off. He can't just snap his fingers and poach my staff whenever the mood takes him."

The profiler rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me it still bothers you that UCOS even exists in the first place."

"It's surplus to requirements; they must know by now they're only there to pick up the cases we don't have the manpower for."

"What's wrong with that? Their clear-up rate is beyond exceptional and by all accounts Sandra Pullman…."

"Makes me look like a pussy cat?"

Grace grinned and quirked an eyebrow. "Not _quite_ the term I'd use."

"Go on, then."

"Teddy bear?"

"Piss off." He groaned loudly at her throaty chuckle and blew out his breath as he felt himself sober once more. "The bottom line is…."

"The bottom line is, I'm going, Boyd." She leant forward earnestly, sincerity etched into every contour of her slender frame. "It's a double child murder…."

"That's not…."

"…and they need my expertise."

His eyes held hers for a long moment, intense waves of silent communication flowing effortlessly, meaningfully between them, before he gave a heavy sigh. "The proviso being that if something comes up here I want you straight back."

Grace raised her palms. "That's between you and the DAC."

"You're strictly on loan, Grace. It's not bloody try-before-you-buy."

She smiled, her expression softening. "Relax. I'm not going anywhere…at least not permanently."

"Good." His reply was brusque, which made her smile maddeningly wider. "Now, get out, will you? I should have left ten minutes ago."

Grace pressed her hands to her thighs and pushed herself assuredly to standing, glancing back at him as she reached the door. "Good luck, then."

He exhaled derisively. "Piece of piss."

"Just don't forget your Shakespeare if the cross examination gets a bit heated."

"Off you go, Grace." He was unable to prevent a fond smile as he watched her slink from the room, her delicate shoulders shaking with laughter, and he raised his voice to call after her. "I'll pick up a takeaway on the way home, alright?"

Her head appeared back around the door frame, her eyebrows raised hopefully. "Chinese?"

"If you like. Though I'm not setting foot in that shit-hole you normally make me go to."

She shrugged, her expressive eyes twinkling. "Suit yourself."

"Don't I always?"

Her laughter was warm and infectious, her heart swelling pleasantly in her chest. "See you later."

"Save me some wine, will you?"

"If you're quick."

She ducked theatrically as he launched his newspaper in her direction, chuckling gently as she stepped back into her own office, determined to avoid all chilling thoughts of the impending case as her eyes fell upon the scribbled notes she had taken during DAC Strickland's call. With a steadfast sigh she reached for the raspberry check of her woollen coat and strode back into the darkened gloom of the bullpen.

* * *

Sandra Pullman pushed open the double doors, the well-manicured fingers of one hand gripping tightly about a drab manila folder as she manoeuvred her way into the office, the other hand curled gratefully about a cardboard cup. With a practised flick of her wrist, the file landed squarely atop the cushions of the couch and she took a large swallow of coffee, shrugging out of her coat before heading towards her inner sanctum and sinking into the comforting leather of her chair. She took a deep breath, her fingers flying across her keyboard as she attended to the pedestrian tasks of the early morning, savouring the tranquil few minutes of quiet before her team arrived for the day. She had yet to more than glance at the file DAC Strickland had left for her with his secretary, his instructions clear that the case should be made an immediate priority, and she frowned slightly into the silence, her natural curiosity more than a little piqued.

"Morning." The familiar baritone was that of Jack Halford and she raised a hand in greeting, watching in accustomed amusement as the older man divested himself of his jacket before heading straight towards the kettle. "Brew?"

Sandra drained the remainder of her coffee and launched its receptacle cleanly into the wastepaper basket, briefly debating the wisdom of more caffeine before dismissing the notion just as readily. "Please, yeah."

Moments later she had joined him in the outer office, gladly accepting the proffered mug of tea before settling herself onto the couch, appraising her colleague as he tended to two further steaming mugs. "Strickland's all worked up about a case he wants us to queue-jump," she opened, reaching for the file and turning back the cover.

Jack raised his eyebrows and took a seat beside her. "He's keen, then. It's only just gone half-past."

"I didn't even speak to him actually. He left strict instructions with his secretary."

"Whose sex-retary?"

Sandra snorted and rolled her eyes as a third recognisable voice chimed in, the door swinging closed behind its owner as he entered the fray. "Morning, Gerry."

"Morning, guv'nor." The former Sergeant was distinctly chipper as he shrugged out of his dark plum overcoat, nodding his thanks towards Jack as the latter pressed a mug into his hands. "Go on, then: whose secretary?"

"Strickland's. He left our latest case file with her this morning."

"She's new, isn't she? Worth going up the stairs for, if you ask me."

"Which I didn't, as it happens."

He grinned at the mildly acidic edge to her tone. "Very tasty bit of skirt. Think old Strickers selected her himself?"

Sandra's expression moulded easily into one of disgust. "Christ, Gerry, it's eight-thirty in the morning; think you could keep your pubescent mumblings to yourself? At least for half an hour?"

"She's also probably young enough to be your daughter." Jack interjected, his pale eyes twinkling. "Maybe even your granddaughter…."

"Since when has that ever stopped him?" Sandra added teasingly, smiling widely as Gerry took a seat beside her.

"Look, there's nothing wrong with appreciating the female form…."

"As you've said. About a million times before."

"Especially when said female form is dressed in a skirt that means my imagination doesn't have to work very hard…."

Her ice blue eyes were piercing. "Not that I don't find this endlessly fascinating, but we do actually have a case to be familiarising ourselves with."

The former Sergeant shrugged and took a long satisfying gulp of tea. "Can't start without Brian, though, can we? Plenty of time for me to wax lyrical on my favourite topic while he winds his merry way through the rush-hour traffic."

"Not enough time in the world, Gerry; trust me."

Gerry's smile was wolfish. "There's always time, guv'nor. It's what makes life worth living."

Sandra rolled her eyes anew, though there was no malice in her tone as she shot back, "Adolescent tosser."

"Oi!" He feigned an expression of hurt and tutted loudly. "It's a bit early in the day to be calling me a 'tosser', isn't it?"

She grinned and raised her mug towards him in a mock salute. "Oh, no. Not even slightly."

"Yeah, well….I think we should bring back the swear-box."

"'Tosser' isn't a swear word, you pillock."

"It bloody is when you say it."

"Go on, then; you've just lost yourself a pound if we're going to re-instate the…."

"Starting now."

Sandra pulled a face. "You are _such_ a child."

"What d'you reckon, Jack?"

The former Chief Superintendent raised a palm. "I've got no interest in being your mediator…or in losing any more money in that damn-fool swear box, for that matter."

"Right," Sandra said with a decisive smugness. "You're out-voted two-to-one, Gerry. I've got free reign to call you a 'tosser' without losing a single penny."

Gerry exhaled forcefully though his eyes were shining. "Whatever."

She laughed boisterously. "Oh, you are _so_ down with the kids, Grandad."

He snorted loudly. "Where the hell's Brian, anyway? I've got a sudden and unusual hankering to do some work."

Sandra's eyebrows almost reached her hairline. "Bloody _hell_."

Jack's eyes flickered towards the door and he grinned, even as Gerry took a breath to retort. "Ah; speak of the devil and he shall appear."

"Brian," Sandra greeted the ex-DI as he clattered unceremoniously into the bullpen with his bicycle, helmet still firmly attached beneath his chin. "Hurry up and get over here before my tea mysteriously ends up all over Gerry's head."

"Sorry," the Lancastrian muttered slightly breathlessly. "Roads were bloody murder this morning."

"I thought being on a bike made you immune to all that?" Jack asked as he handed the younger man a now mildly tepid mug of tea.

"Yeah," Gerry chimed in. "All that smug ducking and weaving between the traffic…."

Brian's expression was scathing. "Do I look like Mark sodding Cavendish?"

Jack pretended to regard his colleague. "I don't know; put you in Lycra…."

"…and you could be twins." Gerry finished with a flourish, chuckling wickedly as he clinked his mug against Jack's in a conspiratorial toast, Sandra immediately joining them in amused laughter as Brian chuntered beneath his breath in response.

"Ha bloody ha; you're all hilarious," he muttered, pointedly ignoring the rest of the group as he removed his helmet and headed towards the couches. "Have we got a new case, then, or what?"

Sandra was the first to recover, her laughter gradually subsiding as she reached once more for the file atop her knees, raising it towards Brian. "Strickland's made it a top priority."

"Did he say why?"

She shrugged, opening the file anew and skimming the first page, her expression growing increasingly sober as her sharp mind rapidly absorbed the detailed summary of the case, her keen eyes skimming across the neatly typed prose as her heart twisted painfully in her chest. _Oh, Jesus Christ…._

"Sandra?"

She blinked at Gerry's momentary prompting, catching the concern edging his tone, the frown creasing his forehead, and she rose slowly to her feet and crossed to the blank white board before turning back to face her team. "It's the Epping Forest case from Nineteen-Ninety," she opened quietly, watching their reactions as the significance of her statement began to sink in.

"Shit," Gerry breathed eventually, vehemently. "Shit."

"The unidentified siblings," Brian stated flatly. "Ages five and three, throats slit with calculated precision…."

"I take it there's been a development?" Jack asked softly, his gaze tracking her movements as she gave a slow nod in reply.

"Yeah," she answered gravely. "A DNA hit. It seems like we might finally be able to get an identification."

"Good." Gerry's voice was gruff. "Step one in finding the lunatic who murdered the poor little blighters."

"Yeah, well, don't get your hopes up for a happy ending; the DNA's the mother's."

"Oh, shit…."

"Go on, Sandra," Jack broke in gently. "Let's have it."

Taking a deep, centring breath, Sandra uncapped the white board marker and began to speak.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer, Pairings, Content, Rating & Spoilers**: See Chapter 1.

**A/N**: Thank you all so much for your kind reviews of Chapter 1 – hope this update doesn't disappoint! Apologies to WtD fans, though, as this chapter is pretty much all NT (with the odd mention of our lovely Boyd & Grace thrown in for good measure ;))…. x

* * *

"Fifteenth of June 1990, a five year old boy and a three year old girl were found dead in Epping Forest, each killed with a single laceration to the throat." Sandra snatched a quick breath as she noted the details onto the white board, her chest tightening as her eyes briefly glimpsed the post mortem photographs partially hidden beneath the cover of the file. "DNA tests revealed them to be siblings, though no match could be found to either parent."

"The parents were top of the suspects list, though," Gerry added solemnly. "I had colleagues in my unit at the time working on the case but they never could trace them."

"No-one came forward to either claim the children or report them missing," Sandra continued, "and a nationwide appeal yielded nothing of any use."

"They were determined to be from a low socio-economic group, weren't they?" asked Brian with an increasingly deepening frown. "Undernourished, poorly clothed…."

"Yeah. The original investigation concluded that they must have been street kids, snatched from wherever they were staying and…."

"So basically what they thought is that no-one gave a shit." Jack's voice was harsh, his tone flat. "No-one reported them missing because no-one missed them, full stop."

"A three year old and a five year old, though?" Gerry blew out a disbelieving breath and shook his head. "They were hardly more than babies; I mean, where the bloody hell was the mother?"

"Well, that brings me on to the reason we've been given the case," Sandra replied, one hand reaching for the file notes as she turned briefly back towards the board. "As part of the review process, the children's DNA was tried against the database and, despite not expecting it, they managed to get a hit."

"The mother?" Brian asked.

Sandra nodded and held up a photograph before adding it to the board. "Melanie Laplin, a prostitute currently serving a three-month sentence for drug offences."

Jack shrugged. "If she's a drug addict it might explain why she never reported her children missing."

"Assuming she wasn't the one who killed them," Gerry interjected, leaning forward to address Sandra anew. "Has she been told, Guv?"

The Superintendent scanned the file notes before giving a clipped nod. "Yesterday, apparently, though by the looks of things she hasn't been fully questioned. You and I can do that this afternoon."

"Why the delay? What she says could be crucial, couldn't it?"

She shrugged one slender shoulder, nonplussed. "Strickland wants to see me at noon. His secretary…."

"Mind my blood pressure, Sandra…."

"…said there's something very important he wants to run by me," she continued smoothly, studiously ignoring the widening grin of the former Detective Sergeant. "Something to do with a special approach he'd like us to take with this one."

"That's very cryptic," Jack cut in, one eyebrow arched in curiosity. "You'd better prepare your defence."

"Against what?" Sandra frowned. "To be fair, Jack, he's normally very hands-off these days."

"Bloody right," Brian added forcefully. "We don't need to be told how to run an investigation."

"So get your best 'sod off' speech ready," Gerry furthered. "I suppose you could add a 'sir' if he starts to get_ really_ arsey."

Sandra rolled her eyes. "For God's sake, he's not the enemy. He's demonstrated time and again that he trusts we know what we're doing; if he wants to give us his input there must be a reason."

"Probably a bollocks reason."

"Oh, wind your neck in, Gerry," she snapped in exasperation, earning simultaneous chuckles from the remainder of her team. "Make yourself useful and do some background on the mother before we go and see her, alright?"

"And us, madam?" Jack asked gamely, his smile broadening at Gerry's reactive muttering as the ex-DS stood and moved dutifully towards his desk.

"You two go through the original investigation with a fine toothed comb; see if they missed anything in terms of ID'ing the victims, the details of the post-mortems, anything that could give us a concrete starting point."

"I'll also have a scout about at where the mother was living at the time," Brian suggested, pushing his glasses back up his nose as they slid down of their own accord. "See if I can track down any of the neighbours."

"Good." Sandra gave a crisp nod of satisfaction, scooping up the file and beginning to walk towards her office, half turning back towards the bullpen as Jack softly called her name.

"This agenda of Strickland's…," he began.

"Christ, you're as bad as Gerry," she groaned irritably, her sharp blue eyes flashing. "There's no big conspiracy here, Jack. Whatever he wants to see me about…."

"He's pushed this to the top of the pile, though, hasn't he?"

"Because of the DNA."

"Sure that's all it is?"

"It's a pretty bullet-proof reason, isn't it? Given that we're talking about child murders."

"A 'special approach', though? That damn well sounds like an agenda to me."

"I'm not a mind-reader, Jack."

"Just don't let him bully you."

She held his gaze unflinchingly, a slow grin spreading across her feline features as she caught the mischievous twinkle sparkling across his eyes, the teasing lilt to his tone. "Ha bloody ha."

Jack laughed loudly. "We'll keep an ear out for the fireworks, then."

She smirked. "I'll let you know what he says."

"We'll be waiting with baited breath."

With a final characteristic eye roll at his facetious remark , the Superintendent turned and stalked back into her inner sanctum.

* * *

Sandra strode briskly down the corridor away from her boss' immaculate office, the sound of her heeled boots echoing loudly around the sterile walls, her intelligent mind flickering in retrospect across the conversation she had just been a participant in. His words had come as a complete surprise and she was well aware that it had shown in her expression….

…

"_I want you to take it as read that she'll be joining you." Robert Strickland's well-spoken baritone was firm, holding up a palm to pre-empt his subordinate's inevitable protest. "She'll be an __**asset**__, Superintendent."_

_Sandra leant forward earnestly across the highly polished mahogany desk. "I'm not arguing that, sir. I'm well aware of her credentials…."_

"_Well, then."_

"_I'm just saying that we don't need her, that's all. Aside from the fact that Gerry used to be in the paedophile unit…."_

"_Spurious, at best…."_

"…_we've got a wealth of murder squad experience. We've dealt with dozens of cases like this."_

_Strickland raised an eyebrow as he regarded her. "Not quite. Infanticide on the part of a mother?"_

_Sandra blew out a frustrated breath. "That's yet to be established. We haven't even questioned her yet, sir."_

"_Be that as it may. It's my opinion that this case requires specialised advice and expertise; and they don't come any more specialised than Grace Foley."_

_The Superintendent narrowed her ice-blue eyes and sat back in her chair as she surveyed her boss. "The CCU isn't within your remit."_

"_Of course not. I could hardly head two Cold Case squads."_

"_And DAC Smith is okay with you poaching her profiler?"_

"_It's strictly for one case, Sandra; she was fine." He gave a humourless laugh. "Peter Boyd, on the other hand…."_

_Sandra grinned widely at the mention of the infamously formidable associate Superintendent. "I can well imagine."_

"_Do you know each other?"_

_She shook her head, silken blond hair swaying gently about her shoulders. "Only by reputation."_

"_Yes, well…even Boyd has to respect the chain of command from time to time." The DAC sighed, folding his hands atop the well-organised desk as he leant towards her. "I wouldn't be insisting on this if I didn't think it would benefit your investigation, Superintendent. There's no ulterior motive here."_

"_I wasn't suggesting that for a moment, sir. All I'm questioning is its necessity."_

"_Doctor Foley is a highly respected psychologist with vast years of experience. Her input could be absolutely critical."_

_She held his authoritative gaze steadily for a long moment before giving an acquiescent shrug. "I can't promise the boys will be on board…."_

"_I can't see what they'd have to object to. Criminal profiling isn't exactly some new-fangled…."_

"_No, I know. But these are the boys we're talking about." They shared a brief, conspiratorially warm smile before Sandra rose decisively to her feet. "I'd better go and break it to them."_

"_Tell them to expect Doctor Foley first thing tomorrow."_

"_We'll be sure to prepare the red carpet."_

_Strickland inclined his head indulgently. "Keep me posted on your progress, Superintendent."_

"_Of course."_

….

Presently she gave a loud sigh, steeling herself for inevitable confrontation as she headed down the stairs and pushed open the doors to the UCOS bullpen once more.

"What did his Highness want, then?" Gerry's tone was typically acerbic as he addressed her over the top of his reading glasses, the various papers strewn across his desk rustling as he leant forwards.

"Where are the other two?" she asked obliquely, ignoring his frown at her deliberate side-stepping of his question.

"Sandwich run," he answered, rising to his feet and walking towards the kettle. "Shall we have a coffee while you give me a sneak preview?"

"Coffee, _yes_," she breathed vehemently, flopping down onto the sofa and allowing her eyes to roam in satisfaction across the now heavily adorned board. "You've been busy."

"I _can_ follow instructions, you know. On occasion." He took a seat beside her momentarily and placed the customary purple mug into her hands, smiling at her grateful sigh. "Come on, then, Guv: sneak preview?"

"Forget it, Gerry. I don't want to have to repeat myself." She took a generous sip of coffee and surveyed the board once more. "Fill me in on the mother."

"Well, that hardly seems fair," he bristled good-naturedly. "Whatever happened to 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours'?"

She gave him a smug grin, cerulean eyes twinkling impishly. "I'm the boss. Same rules don't apply."

"Bloody shame."

Sandra flicked his thigh with the back of her free hand to focus his attention. "Come on: the mother, Gerry."

He chuckled and took a breath to appease her but was interrupted by the other half of the team as they re-entered the bullpen mid-conversation, and he laughed gleefully even as Sandra groaned. "Saved by the bell, eh, Guv'nor?"

"You're back, then," Brian observed gruffly as he dutifully distributed cellophane wrapped sandwiches to the sofa's occupants before heading towards the kettle.

"Bloody hell; no flies on you, are there, Brian?" Gerry scoffed.

"What did he say?" the former DI continued unfazed to Sandra, pouring steaming water into two mugs and handing one to Jack.

She glared at him disdainfully and waved her sandwich in the air. "Do you think I could possibly have a mouthful first?"

"She's stalling," Gerry cut in, earning him a further daggered glower from his boss. "Has been since the minute she stepped back through the door."

"_She_ is doing nothing of the sort," Sandra snapped, unwrapping her sandwich and taking a deliberately large bite. "How much do I owe you, Jack?"

The former Chief Superintendent gestured dismissively, even as Brian frowned indignantly. "How d'you know I didn't buy them?"

"Not bloody likely, is it?" Gerry interjected, smirking. "Tight Northern git."

"I'd be careful bandying that one about, Gerry," Jack replied mildly as he made his way over to his colleagues. "Or this particular Northern git might be inclined to reclaim that delicious-looking BLT from your thieving Cockney hands."

"Or thieving French hands, to be more precise," Sandra added, laughing loudly as Gerry clocked her on the head with his sandwich. "I could nick you for that."

"I'm not bleedin' French. That's actually worse than 'tosser'."

"Anyway," Brian interrupted around a large bite of cheese and pickle. "What did Strickland want?"

Sandra sighed heavily, placing her sandwich onto her lap and taking a fortifying gulp of coffee before speaking again, carefully considering her words as they left the confines of her lips. "So…this special approach he wants us to take…."

"Where he's the puppet master and we're the bleedin' puppets," Gerry muttered.

"That's the brass for you," agreed Jack sourly. "There's always some angle or other, some…."

"Nothing's changed since we were in the job, Jack," Brian added. "It's why unions are so important…."

"God, you lot could bitch and moan for England," Sandra groaned and rubbed a weary hand across her eyes. "Do you actually want to hear what I've got to say or not?"

"It depends," Gerry replied. "How much is Strickers planning to stick his oar in? And for once I actually didn't mean that in the dodgy way."

"The special approach," Sandra continued stoically, forcefully, "is that he wants to bring in a psychological profiler to advise us on this case, alright? Nothing to get your collective knickers in a twist about."

"Ah, bloody hell…."

Sandra raised her palm to stem the incoming tide. "It's not negotiable. So I suggest you get used to the idea quickly because she's arriving first thing tomorrow."

"It's a bit pre-emptive, isn't it?" Brian added, scowling. "It's not like we've had any time to get our teeth into this case yet."

She shrugged. "Strickland thinks we need specialist expertise."

"I could go with that if we'd actually uncovered something," the former DI replied. "But he's jumping the gun a bit, isn't he?"

"He's a control freak, Brian…," Gerry began.

"We control freaks are a select group, Gerry; don't be trying to afford him entry."

"Well, you explain it, then. He always has to poke his nose in, trying to tell us how to do our jobs."

"It might not be as bad as it sounds," Jack said calmly, his attention turning anew to Sandra. "Who's he seconded?"

Sandra gave a soft sigh. "Doctor Foley…."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "_Grace_ Foley?"

"As in the CCU's Grace Foley?" Gerry asked in astonishment.

"Doctor Grace Foley," Brian began, closing his eyes briefly as he searched his extensive memory banks for the information he sought. "BA in psychology, 1971, University of Liverpool, specialising in criminal psychology for her doctorate in 1975. Post-doctoral research at Kings College during which time she started consulting on an ad-hoc basis for the Met. Extensive work at Broadmoor and more police consultancy, before she joined the CCU in the year 2000. She's also a prolific author, both of academic papers and reference books, and is widely considered to be one of the best psychologists in her field."

"Just hang on a minute here," Gerry said, raising a palm towards the rest of the group. "Why her, specifically? There's got to be a dozen profilers working for the Met."

"It's like Brian said," Sandra replied with a shrug. "She's the best at what she does. I guess Strickland thinks that's what we need on this case."

"Yeah, well, I don't trust it. Having someone here from the CCU is a bit like having a spy in the camp."

Sandra rolled her eyes in disdain. "Don't be ridiculous."

"To be fair, Sandra," Jack interjected. "It must have occurred to you over the years about the necessity for two cold case squads…and whether we might one day be considered surplus to requirements."

The Superintendent gave a vehement shake of her head. "Not even for a moment; we're complementary to the CCU, that's never been up for discussion."

"Yeah, but with all the cuts….," Brian shrugged darkly. "I wouldn't put it past the powers-that-be to get rid of us in favour of keeping them going."

"For God's sake, when did you lot get so damned fatalistic?"

"Maybe we're just _real_istic," Gerry chimed in. "And with them bringing in Doctor Foley….That sounds like a bid to merge us, to me. With you, as the only actual copper here, surviving it."

"In case you've missed it, Gerry, Peter Boyd and I happen to be the same rank; if anyone wouldn't survive a merger, it's most likely to be me." Sandra shook her head once more, determined to bring the conversation back under her control. "Anyway, this is all irrelevant. Doctor Foley isn't coming in with some secret agenda; she's here for this _one_ case, to give us the benefit of her expertise."

"Well, bollocks to it. They can't spring this on us and expect us not to question it."

"Yeah, well, for now we need to take it at face value, alright? She'll be here first thing and I expect you all to get on with it."

Gerry raised his palms in defence. "Of course."

"And no jokey innuendos about her private life either, Gerry."

The former DS feigned hurt astonishment though his eyes were gleaming mischievously. "As if I would."

"You bloody would," Brian stated firmly. "That's why she said it."

"Though if you will shack up with your boss…."

Sandra tutted disapprovingly. "Technically Boyd's not her boss; and it's none of your business, even if it _is_ true."

"Nothing like the Met rumour mill," Jack intoned dryly. "The most reliable source of information for who's shagging who, when and where."

"Frankly, whether it's true or not is beside the point. All I'm interested in is whether she can point us in the right direction on this case," Sandra replied with a marked glare at Gerry. "So you can forget any juvenile crap about anything else, alright?"

"Is this female solidarity in action, then?"

Jack laughed before Sandra could respond. "I'd watch it if I were you, Gerry. Soon there'll be two of them around to bust your balls."

"_Justifiably_ bust his balls," Sandra shot back quickly, rising from the sofa and walking towards her office, calling back over her shoulder, "Get your coat, Standing. We're off to Holloway Castle…"

"You take me to all the nicest places, Guv'nor…."

"…and on the way you can give me the background on Melanie Laplin; don't think you got away with dodging that one."

"Chance would be a fine thing."

"I'm still trying to trace the neighbours," Brian chimed in, his voice rising to address the Superintendent as she crossed the threshold to her domain. "I should have come up with a list by the time you get back."

"Good," Sandra replied, her torso now encased in her crisp military-style jacket as she re-emerged, flicking the ends of her sleek hair from her collar. "Let's go, Gerry."

With a mock salute, which caused his fellow ex-officers to chortle loudly, the former Sergeant followed his boss obediently from the room.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer, Pairings, Content, Rating & Spoilers**: See Chapter 1.

Grace stood in front of the full-length mirror and appraised herself critically, intensely irritated by the apprehension nagging at her gut as she fingered the chunky pendant at her throat. She was unquestionably gratified by the prospect of her new temporary assignment, flattered by the faith shown in her by the upper echelons of the Met, yet she was unable to prevent tendrils of anticipation from snaking into her chest as her mind projected forward to the task ahead. With a sigh, she smoothed the soft material of her tunic against her body, smiling in reflex as she felt warm arms encircle her waist, familiar lips nuzzling at her neck.

"You look gorgeous," Peter Boyd mumbled hazily against her skin before settling his chin into the curve of her shoulder and surveying their mutual reflection, their eyes locking in the plane of mirrored glass.

"Thank you," she demurred wryly, sighing gently as he squeezed her body flush against the breadth of his bare chest.

"Not nervous, are you?"

"A bit," she admitted, giving his reflection a sheepish smile. "It's been a long time since I worked with anyone other than you lot."

Boyd exhaled noisily, dismissively as he raised his head to address her more directly. "Three retired officers, Grace; how difficult d'you think they're going to be?"

"It's not that."

"Sandra Pullman, then?"

She pulled a face. "Of course not. I'm looking forward to working with her."

"So…?"

"It's trying to fit in with another team, Peter; a close-knit one, by all accounts."

He frowned in disdain. "You're the master at all that touchy-feely crap."

"A back-handed compliment if ever I heard one…."

"So just do your thing. You'll be fine."

Grace paused thoughtfully. "Imagine if the shoe was on the other foot and someone like me was coming into our team from UCOS…."

"UCOS doesn't have a profiler: that's the whole point."

"I said_ imagine_."

He pretended to consider her words and grinned. "Jesus Christ. I'm not sure I could handle two of you."

She swatted the forearm that held her steadfastly about the waist as he chuckled. "I just meant you'd instantly be on the defensive."

"Not necessarily."

"You would, Boyd. You'd be looking for a hidden agenda from on high and you'd shoot the poor messenger in the process."

"I'm still not convinced there _isn't_ a hidden agenda with all this…."

She held up a palm. "I'm not interested, alright? I just want to concentrate on doing a decent job on the case and not get bogged down in the politics."

"It's not politics. It's about preserving the integrity of our unit."

"I don't think that's in question, is it?"

He shrugged darkly. "I wouldn't bet my life on it."

"We've co-existed with UCOS for years, Peter ; why should things change now?"

"Recession? The coalition government? Budget cuts?" He regarded her in consternation. "Want me to go on?"

"Not particularly."

"It's just highly suspicious that Strickland's doing this _now_, that's all. Not to mention the hand Maureen Smith must have had in it."

"You're forgetting that neither one of them is my boss…."

"Of course I'm not…."

"…so they couldn't have done any of this without my agreement. And if you recall I actually agreed quite readily."

"Hmm," he intoned seriously, though his dark eyes were shining. "So you did."

The profiler tutted long-sufferingly. "Is this where you do your alpha male bit, then?"

"I don't want to lose a key member of my team…."

She groaned in frustration. "For God's sake, Boyd, it's _temporary_."

"It had damned well better be, is all I'm saying. Any hint that this is the start of a merger…."

"I told you. My focus is on this case, on providing the insight that might help to solve it; anything else will just be background noise."

"That's very blinkered, Grace."

"Well, until I know differently, it's how I'm going to proceed." She frowned as he grinned widely and dropped a kiss onto her shoulder. "What?"

"It does it for me when you get het up."

"That wasn't…."

"Even slightly het up."

The psychologist elbowed him sharply in the ribs though her tone was mild. "Grow up, Boyd."

He laughed loudly and released her, padding back towards their bed and picking up his immaculate mauve shirt. "What time are they expecting you?"

"Any time after nine."

He grunted. "Bloody part-timers. Though what else can you expect from a bunch of…."

"Oh, stop it. Just put your bloody shirt on, will you?"

He laughed again in amusement, the deep sound resonating about the bones of his chest as he slid his arms into the garment, striding back towards her before affixing the buttons. "Better?" he asked rakishly, a predatory expression dominating his strong features.

She rolled her eyes at the rough huskiness of his tone, though grudgingly acknowledged the quickening of her heartbeat as he stepped further into her body space. "You're incorrigible."

He grinned wolfishly and bent to kiss her, his hands readily tracing the familiar curves of her waist and hips as they mutually lost themselves in a brief moment of intensity before reluctantly separating once more. "You'll be fine," he assured her quietly, sincerely, his palm rubbing soothing circles across her back as he held her still close to his body.

"Thank you." She smiled warmly, pressing a gentle kiss to the warm skin of his chest. "Though don't think this means I'm going to be your spy."

"I didn't think that for a minute."

She chuckled, shaking her head at the roguish glint in his eye and disentangling herself from his arms as she moved to collect her handbag. "Get dressed, Boyd."

He waved his hand dismissively and sank back onto the bed, stretching languidly as he appraised her from the prone position. "Get out of here, for God's sake."

She laughed affectionately, swinging her bag across her shoulder as she headed towards the door. "I'll see you later."

"I'll be expecting regular updates."

"'Bye, Boyd."

The sound of his resonant laughter vibrated richly about the caverns of her heart, banishing her remaining trepidation as she descended the stairs and walked calmly through the front door.

* * *

Sandra narrowed her eyes as she surveyed her computer monitor, reaching for her long-forgotten cup of coffee and grimacing at the now unpalatably tepid liquid as she took an absentminded sip. She had arrived early that morning, determined to organise her action plan for the case before the appearance of their temporary new staff member, and it had amused her greatly that the rest of her team had apparently thought likewise; the boys had been uncharacteristically punctual, each settling quickly at his desk with little procrastination or grumbling and leaving her to retreat to the sanctuary of her office. Admittedly, she mused with a sigh, she had done little in the way of actual work since sitting down at her desk; her colleagues' paranoia about the motivation behind Grace Foley's imminent arrival was weighing heavily on her mind, despite her efforts to the contrary, and she had spent the past half an hour reading up on the various members of the CCU. _ Helps to know who we might be up against if the brass decides it's either us or them…._She shook her head firmly, jolting herself sharply away from the deeply unwelcome notion as her eyes roamed across the employee photograph of her counterpart on the screen before her. Peter Boyd's fearsome reputation was legendary across all departments of the Met, his relentless approach to securing justice having ensured the phenomenal success of his unit, and Sandra exhaled forcefully as she took in the intense dark eyes and strong jawline, trying to ignore the increasing sense of anxiety gnawing at her gut.

"Earth to Sandra."

She blinked at the sound of the familiar voice as it brought her acutely out of her reverie, and looked up to see Gerry standing in the doorway, his brow creased in a frown as he looked at her. "Sorry; did you say something?"

"Nothing important, luckily, since you were away with the bloody fairies." He stepped across the threshold to survey her more closely. "What're you thinking about?"

She gestured briefly towards her computer monitor and sat back in her chair with a sigh. "Peter Boyd."

Gerry shook his head in mock disapproval and moved to stand beside her. "I've told you before, Guv: it's better the devil you know."

"Not like that, you idiot," Sandra shot back readily, cerulean eyes twinkling as she pretended to regard the photograph before her, head on one side in consideration. "Although…."

"Oh, leave it out." Gerry complained mildly, pulling a face. "Anyway, if the rumour mill's to be believed he's happily living in sin with our soon-to-be profiler…."

"I was_ joking_, Gerry..."

"Though how that twat managed to pull such a classy bird as Grace Foley I'll never know."

She laughed, amused. "I didn't think you knew either of them."

"Come off it, Sandra; the whole of the Met knows about Boyd."

"And Grace Foley?"

The former Sergeant shrugged. "Brain the size of Britain, by all accounts. So what the hell she's doing with Boyd is anybody's guess."

"Just don't tell her she's a 'classy bird' to her face, alright? I'm trying to down-play the notion that UCOS is a haven for dinosaurs."

Gerry grinned mischievously. "You worried we're going to show you up?"

"I'm always worried about that."

"What's wrong with being called a 'classy bird', anyway?"

The Superintendent rolled her eyes, sarcasm dripping from her tone. "Nothing, Gerry. I'm sure it'll work like a charm."

"'Course it will. Don't think I couldn't give Superintendent Arsehole a run for his money."

She laughed and took a breath to reply but was interrupted by Jack calling her name from the bullpen, and she rose to her feet, gesturing for Gerry to precede her as they walked back to join their colleagues.

"Front desk just rang," Jack explained promptly. "She's on her way down."

Sandra mentally squared her shoulders, forcing a bright smile as the main door swung open momentarily and in walked a petite, well-dressed woman, her dark blond hair styled artfully about gentle cheekbones, expressive sapphire eyes sparkling as she enquired, "Superintendent Pullman?"

"Doctor Foley?" Sandra stepped forward to shake the older woman's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Grace," the psychologist corrected gently with a warm smile. "Likewise."

"And it's Sandra," the policewoman replied in kind, gesturing towards each member of her team as she made the introductions. "Jack Halford, Brian Lane, Gerry Standing."

"It's good to finally put faces to names," Grace said as she shook hands with each in turn. "Ridiculous that we've never met before, don't you think? Eight years our units have worked in parallel…."

Sandra shrugged. "I think it says something specific about this case that it's happening now."

"Either that or it's a bleedin' conspiracy," Gerry called over his shoulder as he moved towards the kettle. "Your DAC and ours conniving to make sure we don't rebel and form one giant super unit. Or…."

"Or set us against each other," Brian said. "I wouldn't trust the brass as far as I could throw them."

"In any regard," Jack added flatly, though his smile was playful. "Welcome to the pleasure dome, Grace."

"A veritable sanctuary for positivity and optimism," Brian grinned.

Sandra rolled her eyes as the profiler gave a gentle chuckle. "I promise they're not always like this."

Grace inclined her head. "Shame. I've always thought a healthy suspicion of authority was a good thing."

"See?" Gerry's expression was triumphant as he beamed smugly towards his boss. "She's going to fit in just fine, Guv."

"I don't doubt that for a minute," Sandra replied with a smile, addressing the psychologist once more. "We're glad to have you here, Grace. I'm sure your expertise is going to be invaluable."

"I wouldn't go that far," the older woman cautioned gently as she sobered. "I have to confess, I've only been given the briefest outline of what the case actually involves."

"Let's have a cup of rosy, then, and we'll fill you in." Gerry's tone was upbeat as he handed the profiler a steaming mug and guided her towards the sofas, the others following swiftly in their wake.

Grace gratefully took a seat and a fortifying sip of tea. "It's the Epping Forest double murder case from the Nineties, isn't it? Siblings buried in the forest with no means of ID."

"Except now there is a means, of sorts," Sandra answered, walking towards the white board and gesturing towards a custody photograph. "Melanie Laplin, convicted prostitute, has been identified as the mother through the DNA database."

"Ah; has she been questioned?"

"Yeah, the Guv'nor and I went yesterday," Gerry chimed in from his position on the opposite couch. "Waste of bloody time."

"How so?"

"She was…cold," Sandra explained. "Just kept saying over and over how she wanted to see her children."

"But she couldn't give us any useful information about what might have happened to them," Gerry said with a dismissive wave. "For my money she's the prime suspect until we know differently."

Grace looked thoughtful. "That might be a bit premature…."

"Just because she's a drug addict and a prostitute, Gerry, it doesn't necessarily follow that she's also a child killer." Brian's tone was liberally laced with disdain as he regarded his colleague.

"No, I get that, I do. But there was something off about her, didn't you think, Sandra? She was kind of disconnected…."

"That's not uncommon," Grace replied. "If she's already unstable then a trauma like this could be enough to tip her into dissociation."

"So her lack of an emotional reaction might just be her way of processing it?" Jack asked.

"Exactly."

"There's precedence, though, isn't there?" asked Sandra. " I mean, it's not completely unheard of for a parent to kill their children."

"No, but without anything more to go on at this stage I think we should reserve judgement." The profiler leant forward to survey the board. "I'd like to speak to her myself, if you've no objections."

"I thought you might say that." The Superintendent smiled. "I've booked another visit for this morning."

Grace nodded in satisfaction. "Was there anything useful on the bodies in forensic terms?"

"Not a bloody thing," Brian replied, with a heavy sigh. "They were fully clothed but no trace fibres could be found…."

"It _was_ the Nineties," Jack interrupted. "The techniques that exist for that sort of thing now just didn't back then."

"Or no-one tried very hard," Gerry suggested ominously. "If they were thought to be from a poor background…."

"Was that established, then?" Grace asked.

"Yeah, from the clothing they were wearing, and from the PMs," Sandra replied. "They were determined to be significantly under-nourished and vitamin-deficient."

"Poor little things." Grace's tone was empathetically bleak and she took a breath before addressing the Superintendent anew, agonised anticipation lacing her throaty alto. "Any evidence of a sexual element?"

"None, thank God," Sandra's grim relief was evident in her expression. "The only injuries sustained were the fatal ones: a single laceration to each throat."

Grace raised her eyebrows. "Nothing defensive?"

"No," Brian replied. "Though toxicology did seem to indicate the presence of heroin in their blood, which might account for that."

"Which brings us right back to the mother," Gerry stated flatly. "She had easy access to smack…."

Sandra raised a palm. "It's circumstantial, Gerry."

"It's a connection."

"So, what we're saying is," Jack interrupted swiftly before the characteristic bickering could escalate, "that they were taken by person or persons unknown and injected with heroin to subdue them, before being taken into the forest and murdered."

"Hm. The original investigation made the _assumption_ that they were killed in the woods," Brian stated in reply. "But that's not necessarily a given. It could just have been a deposition site."

"True." The older man nodded in concession. "Not that we can probably determine which this far down the line."

"Either way, according to the original case notes, it was clear that some care was taken over the burial…."

"Care?" Gerry's tone was incredulous in its disgust. "If that's meant to be a joke, Brian, it's not a bloody funny one."

"Of course it's not a joke," the Northerner replied with a frown. "The bodies were shrouded, Gerry, with the limbs carefully folded in. They weren't just thrown into the ground and dumped."

"Whoever this was brutally murdered two children! However they disposed of the bodies is irrelevant, isn't it?"

"Not necessarily," Grace edged in calmly as she leant forward towards her new colleagues. "Potentially it can tell us a great deal about the perpetrator's state of mind and/or his relationship with the victims."

"With all due respect, Doctor, it doesn't make any sense to me; you don't do that to someone in the first place if you care about them. Especially not if they're children."

The psychologist's voice was compassionately soft. "It's not quite as simple as that, I'm afraid. The human psyche is complex and fragile; cause-and-effect doesn't always work in the way you'd perhaps expect it to."

"This is exactly why we need Grace's input, Gerry," Sandra stated firmly.

"Oh, I'm not knocking it. It's just hard for a thick ex-copper like me to get his head around, that's all."

Grace smiled and appraised the former Sergeant. "But you weren't really thinking like a copper there, were you? More like a father?"

Gerry grinned at her perceptiveness. "Guilty as charged, your honour; four daughters."

"Two daughters and a son." The profiler briefly touched her own chest, her slight smile bathed in a shared warmth of common ground. "So of course it's hard for you to imagine how anyone, especially a parent, could do something like that."

"So you _do_ like the mother for it?"

"I'm not saying that at this stage. Not until we've got more information."

"Yeah, well…just wait 'til you've met her."

"Which is exactly where we're going now," Sandra interjected decisively before turning to address Brian. "Did you manage to track down any of the neighbours?"

The ex-DI nodded. "Three of them."

"Good; so the three of you can take one each, then."

Gerry tutted in feigned reproof. "What is this: girls versus boys, or something?"

Grace chuckled. "It's been a long time since anyone called me a girl, Gerry."

"Mere slip of a girl, Grace."

"For God's sake," Sandra groaned in exasperation, though she smiled despite herself at her colleagues' obvious amusement. "Let's get out of here, Grace, before he _really _starts to lay it on thick."

"I've got plenty more like that up my sleeve, you know," Gerry called after them riotously as the women collected their things and headed through the office door, his boyish grin broadening as he caught the sparkle of mirth adorning the profiler's expression before turning back towards Jack and Brian. "What do we think then, lads?"

The ex-DI shrugged. "She seems to know what she's talking about, any road. Even if she _is_ here with an agenda from on high."

"Bloody gorgeous as well."

"Trust you to focus on that rather than what's in between her ears."

"I'm only a man, Brian."

"_I'm_ only a man, Gerry; but that doesn't mean I feel the need to objectify women at every possible opportunity."

"Oh, lighten up, Brian," Jack said mildly. "I think Gerry was merely stating a fact."

"And I was merely stating that it's possible to appreciate a woman for _all _her attributes, not just her physical ones."

"So you _do_ fancy her, then?" Gerry teased.

"Esther not-withstanding, of course he does; we all do," Jack interjected as Brian sighed, his eyes twinkling in merriment. "She's the very definition of 'thinking man's crumpet'."

"Yes, well….I wouldn't let her or Sandra catch you saying that, if I were you," the former DI warned.

"Not half," Gerry affirmed enthusiastically with a mock grimace. "They could each have a pair of testicle earrings with a pair left-over for display."

Jack laughed. "And then of course there'd be Peter Boyd to contend with."

"Worse than madam when she's on one?" Gerry exhaled dismissively and shook his head. "Nah. Not a chance."

"Well, rather you than me if you want to put it to the test."

The ex-Sergeant pretended to consider. "On second thoughts, maybe I'll leave it for another day."

"Very wise," Jack replied sagely before rising to his feet and retrieving his coat. "Shall we away?"

"Bagsie the neighbour who's the merry widow."

"Not a bloody chance. Come on, Brian; I'll drop you at the first address."

The three men donned their outer garments and walked cordially from the office, their continuing conversational banter echoing jovially about the walls of the staircase as they ascended.

TBC


End file.
